


Falling Hope

by lordavon



Series: I'd Rather Hurt Than Live Without You [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But it's Deadpool he comes back, Lots of Angst, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Might be a suicide pact, Miscommunication, POV Second Person you've been warned, Suicide, Wade's POV so really I warned you, no beta reader we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordavon/pseuds/lordavon
Summary: Peter Parker's identity reveal goes very, very badly, leaving him taking desperate measures to try to salvage his relationship with Wade.





	Falling Hope

It feels like hanging in mid-air, your breath caught in your throat, trusting someone else not to drop you. And it’s the hanging part, not the swinging; not the moment when the webbing goes taut and you swing off the building - although there’s hanging there, too; hanging onto him because you can’t do this, grappling hooks are just not the same – but somehow that part is easier, you can feel the physics of it, you can feel the line of webbing to his hand and your body wrapped around his as a real thing, a thing that swings, a thing that has connection to other things.

But then he releases the line, and reaches to throw another anchor, and it’s that moment, that moment of pure flight, pure nothing is holding you both up but gravity and gravity doesn’t actually hold you up so maybe it’s velocity or inertia or lift or something you can’t remember from barely passed science classes in a school you can’t remember either because that’s all fuzz in your head on the best of days and when you are flying through the air by virtue of not hitting the ground yet it’s hard to think past the intimate knowledge of what slamming into the pavement will feel like to remember things like fucking science classes. 

That’s what it feels like.

Trusting someone.

And then just as you’re sure this time the web will miss, this time his hand will slip, this time the jolt will knock you loose; just as you’re fucking convinced he’s going to fall and you’re both going to fucking die and then you’ll have to wake up covered in his damn blood and that won’t ever, ever come out of your head and no amount of shooting yourself will fix it - the webbing catches the next building and you feel his muscles flex because you’re hanging on that tightly and suddenly you are arcing back up to the sky. And your brain jabbers that it’s a lie, that it won’t last, that he’ll miss the next one, and yet somehow each time he asks you say yes and you let him drag you through the sky because friends trust each other.

Only this time the web didn’t catch or his hand slipped and even though you are standing on a roof staring at Peter fucking Parker you know it’s not real, you know you are simply falling 

and the ground

is getting

closer

and you can’t breathe, dammit, you just can’t get one breath in while your mind screams about set-ups and practical jokes and yes you know he’s known for his one-liners but this is too damn far and this is just too damn far and this is just fucking too damn far and you want to scream at him because people who are friends don’t spend months being friends on either side of the mask without ever once fucking hinting that they might be the same damn person and he’s got fucking tears in his eyes like he’s the one hurting when he just let go of the damn webbing and you’re falling but he can just catch another building.

The gun is in your hand.

Rising.

Tear-red eyes go wide as you press the muzzle to your forehead.

Hands reach and he shouts something but you pull the trigger.

And fall.

So.

Quietly.

When you wake up everything hurts and everything’s screaming and you realize he’s fucking crying over your body and he’s been here the whole damn time. You just lay there while that fucking asshole babbles something about being sorry or not trying to lead you on or was scared or was trying protect you and it’s too much to take. And you’d fucking throw him off the roof because even now you trust his damn webs would catch him but you can’t because you’re terrified if he misses just once he’s gone and even now, even knowing what an asshole he is you still don’t want a world without Spidey in it. It’s bad enough your world no longer does. The thought is so painful, so wrong, it’s a knife carving into your chest and you know exactly what that feels like because any number of people have done that to you in the past. But he’d started to give you hope.

Peter Parker.

Spiderman.

Peter Parker.

Spiderman.

Peter Parker. Spiderman. Peter Parker. Spiderman. Peter Parker Spiderman Peter Parker Spiderman PeterParker Spiderman PeterParkerSpiderman PeterParkerSpidermanPeterParkerSpidermanPeter…

You roll yourself off the edge of the roof before you can think about it, the refrain of PeterParker Spiderman playing in your head the whole 

Way

Down

Pain!

Pain explodes, fissures cracking your bones and opening your skull. Because there aren’t any more webs to catch you.

Darkness.

When you wake this time he’s not there. You knew he wouldn’t be. He didn’t really care, after all. He wouldn’t have lied if he had. 

A day later…a week..a month – it doesn’t matter when. It’s later, it’s not then. It’s now. You hear the quiet thud of feet landing behind you. “Wade…”

You don’t pause in chewing the taco. You just pick up the gun and point it behind you, unerringly straight at him. You don’t need eyes in the back of your head to know you’ve pointed it directly at his masked, lying, deceiving face. You take another bite of deliciousness as you wait for him to make up his mind. 

He’s saying something about the bodies, and you laugh; it sounds ugly and harsh coming out of your throat – you laugh, and you don’t turn around, because you don’t care anymore so long as the bad guys are dead and he still thinks he can fucking lecture you and you might listen? The co-ed you saved from a rapist by blowing his brains out might need therapy but she cares more than the spandex-covered asshole behind you does. 

His words trail off, awkward and uncertain. As if nothing he’s said is what he actually said. Or nothing what he meant. And you hear him thwipping away, his webs still supporting him and keeping him in the air as if he doesn’t realize that you are still fucking falling. 

You put the gun back down and finish the taco. Pull down the mask. Jump down to the fire escape and head to St. Margaret’s in hopes of a contract because the city feels too small, too close to him right now, and you need to get out.

The next time he lands behind you, you simply pick up the gun and shoot yourself in front of him. If he’s going to treat you like a resource, like a student, like anything but the fucking friends – lovers – soulmates – buddies – whateverthefuck you were – well, you don’t have to play.

And maybe, just maybe, watching your brain matter leak out over the rooftops will convince him that just because you can’t die doesn’t mean you can’t feel.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until finally one night when NYC is looking particularly ratty and desperate with clouds overhead and puddles from the rainstorm that passed through you hear the gentle thud of his booted feet landing oh so close behind you and as you draw your gun his hand is on your wrist and his masked cheek pressed to yours, and he pulls your hand with the weapon to the side of his head, and he’s so close you can feel his jaw move against yours as he says, “If you die, I fucking die too. Because I cannot keep living without you.”

You forgot how strong he was, legs wrapping around your waist from behind. His other arm over your shoulder, draped over your chest, fingers clutching into the leather. His breath is ragged, sharp, and he won’t let you pull the gun away from his head. Your heart is pounding, and you can’t think past the white noise in your brain, your mind shutting down because all it is, is pain, and you hear this horrible keening cry that you think is him, but he’s just repeating what he said, shouting at you now to do it, to just shoot you both and you realize it’s you screaming.

You can’t drop the gun.

You can’t lower your arm, caught in his spider-strong grip.

You scream, the words raw and angry and hateful and desperate and despairing. “_I LOVE YOU_,” the only thing you’ve said to him in months, in fucking months, and you scream again, before you pitch forward, grabbing his free hand as you see the street stories below you. Holding him tight as you both go into free-fall.

The wind rushes past.

Bright squares of light blur as the ground closes in.

His hand releases your wrist, letting you pull the gun from your heads.

You leave it to him. You have no hope left. He killed it, and now you’re both falling, and there’s no anchors, but maybe you can end his pain if you can’t end yours, and it doesn’t occur to you there’s any other option because your pain has never ended except once and you don’t have it in you to trust him again, no matter how much you want to, because wanting isn’t like hoping. Wanting is hard, and selfish, and you know if he saves you both this time you’re going to break, and you don’t know which way. Because you’re Wade fucking Wilson and even your second chances are fucked up and wrong.

Because this was probably a second chance and the first thing you thought to do was kill it.

You can see the asphalt of the alley so very close now.

Feel him shifting.

And you wonder if you’ll both hit.

Or if you’ll hear

Maybe if you’ll

If just maybe

Maybe

Maybe even though it hurts so fucking much to hope even this tiny little amount

Maybe 

You’ll hear

a

thwip

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I haven't written comic book fanfiction in over a decade but I'm obsessed with Spiderpool. And this has been playing in my head so I got it down into words. And this is my first Spiderpool fanfic EVER, and my first Marvel fanfic ever. And I hope everyone likes it even though it's angst, angst, and more angst. i deliberately left the ending vague because I'm a fan of those stories where the reader is left deciding which way it goes.


End file.
